Rainfall
by nemaara
Summary: There is a mystic quality about rain that has always drawn her to it. That, and the fact that her best friend likes it too. Oneshot - Raven/Jinx.


Disclaimer: Teen Titans isn't mine

I'll preface this oneshot with a note on writing...

In general, there are two verb tenses that may be used in a story - past and present tense (and all of their subcategories). By far the most common tense, and considered to be the proper tense to use, is past tense. However, present tense can be used in first person narratives (aka, when you use 'I') and when describing character thoughts or emotions. Its use is uncommon, but there are quite a few stories that I've read that use present tense very well. I thought it was interesting to try so I'm going to try it. Would be nice if you could tell me what you think.

Also, this is rated M because it's very, um... sensual. Not a lemon, but definitely a lime. So be warned...

"Speech"

*As this is written in present tense, using italicized text to represent thoughts would be redundant. It will be up to you to determine what are thoughts and what are events*

* * *

The rain falls.

A girl, black cloak drawn about her, hood up, walks along the beach, wiggling her toes in the sand.

She looks up, letting the rain fall on her face, and smiles briefly, before returning to her usual impassive expression. Though, there is still a glimmer of excitement, or perhaps joy, or even ecstasy in her eyes.

Her hood falls back, but she doesn't care. Around her, the rain falls in a misted veil, dripping through her cloak, her clothes, running down her skin, a cool stream of rippling sensation gliding down her body. Soon, she is soaking wet, but she does not mind at all; in fact, she rather enjoys it, the sight and sound of the rain, falling from the sky, its soft pitter-patter on the nearby bay somehow very soothing. Yes, though it is a probably depressing mode of weather to most, she knows, she feels quite at peace in it. Tranquil, centered, calm...

In the rain, there is nobody else around. People are hiding inside, or moving as quickly as they can through it, sheltered under their umbrellas, but she is wandering along the beach, aimlessly, caught up in the pure rapture of the endless curtain of droplets of water cascading from the sky. She wonders briefly why everyone seems so averse to the water; it is not sickness, for winter has gone and spring has come, and it is not uncomfortable humidity, for it is still in the cool spring airs of blooming life, before the heat of summer. She wonders why they are afraid of it and why she is not. It is a brief thought, but she is unperturbed by the fact that she is different.

She has always been different. It is something she knows well and sometimes has a hard time living with, but has had to put up with all of her life. She usually does not enjoy it; she is shunned as a monster, or an abomination, or she is hunted, as the harbinger of doom, of the apocalypse. Her uniqueness is no gift, her strangeness a burden. She is dark, gloomy, moody, and knows she would love to be happy, but cannot bring herself to feel that way. It is not who she is, and she has come to terms with that. She is different, and it is usually difficult.

But not here. Different, yes, but she knows that it is not her loss. No, how could this feeling of pure ecstasy be a bad thing? No, not even ecstasy, but she feels like a weight has been lifted from her body. She feels detached, but not empty, feeling nothing at all, but it does not bother her.

It is different from the sensation that she gets while meditating. There, she is distant from the world. Cut off, cast alone into the void. It represses her emotions, quelling them until there is nothing but emptiness within her. Utterly devoid of life. But here, she still feels her emotions there, there at the borders of her senses; she can reach out to them any time she wants, but she feels no need to. There is no urge for her to feel anything, and likewise, her emotions seem content as well, not pushing against her barriers as they normally do, but instead, gracing her with their presence. Letting her know that they are there... she is not ignoring them, nor repressing them, but accepting them as a part of herself. Not necessary, but still the aspects of her mind that make her whole.

And so she feels pure, purely herself, unrestrained, as the rain falls about her shoulders.

She loves the sensation of water on her body, trickling along the down on her skin... it is a sensuous feeling, a pleasing one; not arousing, but comfortable, soothing, not stimulating. A wondrous sensation, made more so by the fact that she rarely allows herself to feel anything, and when she does, it is usually only anger, or pain, or raw, uninhibited despair... not this feeling of calm comfort. Yes, _feeling _the comfort, as opposed to finding solace in solidarity, _feeling _the rain drip through her clothes, tickling at her secret, sensitive areas, little nips of euphoria...

For her, loving is a rare thing, but she knows she loves the rain, the slow, placid water dropping from the sky. She loves it, more than anything else... well, almost anything else. There is one other thing...

Actually, a person.

She wonders why she thinks about _her_ at this particular moment, when the rain falls all around. When she is alone, enjoying herself, in the solitude that she ever so desires... she knows she enjoys solitude, especially in the rain, and so she wonders why she thinks about this special girl, the thing, the person she loves most. She knows she also enjoys the company of her favorite person, but she also knows she loves the rain, the seclusion... and then she wonders why she cannot have them both...

Isolation is an odd thing. It is something she seeks, probably too much for her own good, but she cannot help but despise the company of most other people - they are annoying, obnoxious, loud, insensitive, idiotic, unthinking... not understanding. It is no wonder that she cannot help but distance herself from them, but she realizes that the feeling is not all encompassing. She is willing to be with someone who feels the same way as she does, secluding herself from the rest of the world just as she has done: in other words, alone, but together.

A flower floats through the rain, gliding smoothly through the droplets, its delicate petals glistening with a sheen of water. It is pink; a beautiful shade of pink that seems to be unable to settle on a single shade of color - at times bright and vibrant, at others, overcast with a shade of darkness. She stares at it as it floats toward her, landing perfectly in her outstretched hands... she cups it, almost cradling it as if it is something precious, something that is _hers, _to be protected by her, to be loved, to be cherished with her in her solitude...

She remembers why she is thinking about her favorite person. Her lover.

It was on a day remarkably similar to this one that they met. In the rain, both alone, wandering along the beach, they had seen each other.

There had been no words that had been exchanged, no jarring voices to break the steady, tranquil rhythm of the falling rain. A look of the eyes, a slight smile, that was all they had given each other, but at that moment, she knew that this girl, this odd, cat-eyed, pink-haired girl... she was to be her best friend. Her beloved. There was no way she could not love her, not after she had seen the look in the other girl's eyes, the gleam and dulling that she knew was so similar to her own, a flash of emotions, disappearing - repressed - resurfacing, then gone again. Flashes of color, calmed by the cooling rain, but otherwise maybe overwhelming, forcibly repressed under either a mental barrier, or a facade of immaturity.

Where they had met, in the falling rain, where something more than just words, just touches were exchanged. On a day like this one, they had been bound to each other, and though they had parted, she knew that that would not be the last time she saw that odd, but beautiful pink-eyed gaze.

She is lost in thought, so lost that her usual sense of awareness is gone; she does not even notice as another person approaches, walking along the beach in front of her. The other girl is moving slowly, pacing, brooding, seemingly lost in thought as well. And so they do not notice until they nearly run into each other, but upon recognizing the other, neither is bothered very much.

They smile, as they always do, when they happen upon each other. Violet eyes glance up and down, taking in the other girl's familiar form. Her pale legs are bare and glistening in the rain; she, for some reason, is only wearing a dark shirt, no more.

"Not cold?"

The pink haired girl shakes her head, her usual hair-style, a pair of horns, now forming a dampened curtain around her shoulders. "Not really. It feels nice."

A nod in return. She takes a deep breath, then draws nearer to the taller girl. They look at each other, pink meeting violet, and there is a small, soft giggle. "You look so different like this."

The violet haired girl tilts her head sideways slightly. "How so?"

"Dunno. You just look so much more... _alive. _Ya kno?"

"I_ feel _more alive," she whispers back, looking up at the sky, letting a smile creep up onto her face again.

This time, it does not fade, and the pinkette grins at her. Moving closer, she hugs her, squeezing her tightly, lifting her off the ground a little. Violet eyes blink a little, in surprise, but she does not pull away, like she normally does.

In the rain, they stand, bodies pressed tightly together and she can see nothing but a veil of pink around her, the curtain of her lover's hair. It tickles her cheeks, but it is not uncomfortable at all. Quite the contrary; she loves the feeling of the supple, lithe muscles of the pink haired girl's body against her own, the curving of her chest against her own, the slight swell of her stomach, her bare legs, their limbs intertwined...

She feels a hand running through her wet, violet locks and gasps a little as she feels a slight pressure at the nape of her neck. Her hands roam up, underneath the dark shirt, pressing against a smooth, wet abdomen, running her fingers lightly across the slick skin, then up, running her nails along the bottom of the other girl's ribcage, up a little, along her lungs, and she hears the pinkette's breathing shift a little. Up further, meeting two mounds of flesh, two nubs, hard with the sensation of cool rain dripping down her body, and she pinches, eliciting a sharp breath, a half moan.

Abruptly, she feels plump lips press into her own and she lets her breath come out raggedly as a tongue pushes into her mouth. She closes her eyes, leaning into it, tasting cherry lip balm and rainwater, feeling the water droplets stream down her body faster as the drizzle around them picks up pace. They remain in that position for a little while, until the pink haired girl draws back a little, face flushed.

A pair of violet eyes open. "Is something wrong-"

"Shh," a finger is pressed to her lips, and she blinks a little before smiling.

She knows the other girl appreciates the pure sensation as much as she does, she knows that the other girl also needs no words to disrupt the pure calm of the falling rain around them, the wondrous feelings that they share, but sometimes she forgets and speaks. And is gently reminded... so gently, with a sparkle of pink and the tiniest of grins.

Delight dances in her violet irises; a wide, beautiful smile is her response, and the pink girl kisses her again. Their noses touch and they find each other staring, eyes meeting again. Held in rapture, pure euphoria, unlike anything she has felt before, soars through her soul, and seeing the uninhibited joy behind the pink irises, she is sure that the other girl is feeling the same thing.

She closes her eyes, moving her hands out from beneath her lover's shirt, then lifts the bottom of it slightly. A pair of arms raise in compliance and soon the article of clothing is gone, cast aside, leaving her hands free to roam across the smooth, ivory skin. Across her collarbones, her bare arms, down her sides, squeezing lightly, the thin fabric guarding her secret areas...

She knows she is smiling because the pink haired girl is staring at her, seemingly lost in thought, her eyes glazed over, even as her body reacts to all of the tiny touches... she touches the other girl's face and the cat-like eyes blink a couple times.

"You're _beautiful,_" she whispers, and the sheer ecstasy in her voice sends chills down the violet haired girl's spine._  
_

It is a strange statement to her, because she knows that she is not pretty by most standards - neither of them are, really. They are usually labeled as freaks; both of them, so pale that they seem ethereal, cast in odd, inhuman colors, pink and violet, one of them with the strange features of a feline, and the other with a perturbed darkness about her that seems unnatural and demonic... far from just 'pretty,' but she had long since learned that that word really held very little meaning. So superficial, so unimportant.

No, the way the word _beautiful _caresses her lips, it speaks volumes more than just appearances. She knows that the pinkette is speaking of more than just how she looks; it is the way she is smiling, faintly, but on her face, the one that rarely shows any expression at all, it is beyond euphoric.

She becomes aware of a pair of wet hands tugging her own shirt off. Despite the fact that they are out in the open, she does not care in the least, especially since nobody is around. Her breathing grows ragged and she squirms as the hands move down along her abdomen - secretly, she is ticklish, mostly due to the fact that she is rarely, if ever, touched, and only her lover knows this - and she gasps as she feels the points at the apex of her breasts harden, pinched lightly, as a mouth moves downward.

She feels that it is wonderful because despite the intimacy of the touch, it is not a heated feeling. It is comfortable, not a jolt of sensation through her, but a firm, steady sensation of soothing. It is not arousing; she does not feel warm, nor tense, nor eager. Her emotions seem to be sated behind the freshly lowered barriers of her mind and she knows that the placidity of the rain, the sensations that the pink girl's touches bring are plenty to satisfy her body.

There is no urge to do more; she feels content. To her, it seems like the most glorious feeling of all. Just plain contentment. No depression, no pain, no fury... the converse, no arousal, no excitement, not even happiness. Just... contentment. Ecstatic in its own way.

There is a tug at her waistband. She complies as well, sensing no lust from the other girl. At the moment, the act seems natural... perhaps not logical, but it feels right.

She is not wearing anything underneath, but that does not seem to surprise the pair of hands that continue running down her body, down her smooth legs, the insides of her thighs, creeping upward. She feels the rain slither down as well, adding the sensation of slickness to the movements of the other girl's palms; the sheen of moisture on her skin feels wonderful, blissful, and she cannot help but let out a small moan, her eyes rolling up a little.

She feels her knees weaken after a moment and before she knows it, her back is pressed to the sand beneath her. A pair of lips crush her own again. She feels the pinkette's breasts crushed against her own, and a moment later, a hand dips down, brushing through the wet hair at the base of her abdomen, pulling lightly, twirling the dark curls between her fingers.

It is strange, because she still feels no sense of lust, neither from herself nor the other girl. They seek out nothing more. Nothing more than the feelings of their bodies pressed together, together in the rain, away from all else, alone, but _together. _Nothing but the calm sense of cool placidity about them and the sheer contentment of each other's company, worrying about, and needing nothing else.

The pink haired girl lifts her body off the ground slightly, slipping off her last remaining article of clothing, and down her legs it slides, cast away. Now they are both laid completely bare, to each other, to the world, but there is nobody to see. Nobody else, save for a pair of pink eyes, and mirrored mauve ones. They are laid bare in the falling rain, and their emotions, unrestrained, but unincensed as well, feel satisfied.

The taller girl lays down beside her and stretches out her arms, letting a pair of small hands play with her own.

She speaks again, but her voice is smooth and soft, flowing with the rhythm of the rain around them. "I'm glad I met you."

A pair of violet eyes close and a smile adorns her face; it does not leave. "I'm glad I love you."

The pinkette does not reply, but she does not need to. The feelings emanating from her are enough of a response for the empath laying beside her.

And so it is silent as they lay there together, in the veil of falling rain...


End file.
